


April Rose When May Fell

by oceans_prince (orphan_account)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Hospitalization, I don't know, I'll add more as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:49:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/oceans_prince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Patrick wakes up next to a pastel haired girl who claims to be his girlfriend with barely any of his memory, all he can do is go along with it, and hope to God that she didn’t kidnap him. </p><p>From then on, there’s only two constants in his life - horrible hallucinations, and one phrase that refuses to leave his mind:</p><p>“April rose, darling, my April rose…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Day Arises

"Patrick? Patrick, wake up, sweetheart..."

"This isn't funny anymore, please wake up..."

"PLEASE!"

The sound of Day's pleading shout in his ear finally woke the sleeping man next to her. Patrick stirred a little bit, but groaned and rolled over on his side away from her upon seeing the daylight streaming through the bedroom window. Day rolled her eyes, getting up and closing the blinds so that the room was bathed in darkness. "Happy now?" she asked sarcastically.

Patrick settled on his back, pushing himself up and sitting against the mahogany headboard, blinking and glaring around. His expression was that of extreme confusion and dazed curiosity. "Where... where am I?" he muttered.

"Your bedroom, silly," Day laughed, sitting down next to Patrick and interlacing her fingers with his. She figured he's probably still groggy and he'd remember everything in a moment. That, or he was playing a trick. Most likely the former, considering his little stunt about waking up.

"Who are you?" he stuttered, although not rejecting Day's affection. This stranger's grip on his hand seemed oddly comforting. "What the hell? Stop acting like things are fine!" he added when he saw her giggly face.

"I'm your girlfriend, Patrick, stop playing with me," Day said and rolled her eyes. "God, you need coffee, don't you?"

Patrick calmed down a little bit at the mention of a cup of coffee. "Yes, I guess I do," he mumbled, still confused as hell. He could barely remember his own name; how was he supposed to know whoever this chick claiming to be his girlfriend was? How did he know she didn't kidnap him? Why was she being so friendly to him, if the former was true?

The woman stood up, tossing her wavy pastel purple hair behind her and leaving the room, presumably to make coffee. This allowed Patrick to lay down and stare at the ceiling, pondering where he was. Suddenly, the bland white ceiling began to inexplicably morph and change, black and blue weaving its way in...

And then he wasn't in the bed anymore, rather laying on hard concrete, staring up at the night sky with pain coursing through his body like it was his very own blood. Speaking of blood, when Patrick tried to move his head, which required an enormous amount of effort, he noticed he was covered in the sticky red stuff. Laying his head down again sent a new burst of stinging pain down his spine, causing him to cry out. Even the cry made his dry throat ache.

The slapping of shoes on concrete started to become clearer as someone neared. Finally, a woman with ginger hair bent over him, worry painting her face. She brought a hand to her mouth and tears started to run down her cheeks. "Patrick, baby, oh my God..." she choked out. "I love you, I love you so much, just know that... you'll be OK, I promise..."

Something inside Patrick made him want to reassure the person hovering over him, who was so clearly in distress because of whatever had happened to him. This was easier thought than done, as he tried to make some sort of sentence form that would let her know this was probably just a bad dream, nothing but garbled sounds came out. He tried once more, and this time he said something, although he didn't remember making the decision to say it. "I.. I love.. you.." he barely managed to force out.

The world began to fade to black, and Patrick didn't want to let go of the woman who was now clasping onto his hand like it was keeping them both alive, so he desperately attempted to hang on. But he couldn't, and soon, the pain was gone and the lights and commotion of the scene he was previously in went with it. He was back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The only thing retained in his mind was that he needed to go back to that ginger haired girl, tell her again that he loved her, that all would be OK. He didn't know why. He had no clue who she even was.

Somehow, the girl Patrick had woke up next to offered him a sense of comfort when she appeared in the doorway, two mugs of coffee in her hands. She seemed to be on the same level as the woman from the dream. Without warning, the words that had been on the tip of his tongue since the end of the hallucination escaped his lips as he was handed one of the mugs. "I love you," he said.

Day smiled, giving his forehead a light kiss. So he was coming back to his senses now. "I love you too, Trick," she said graciously. "Glad to see you're coming back to me."

Patrick shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked like he was contemplating something, staring down at his feet in silence. Finally, he broke said silence. "When you were gone," he began tentatively. "I think I hallucinated or something."

Day furrowed her brow in confusion. She took a drink of her own coffee. "What do you mean?" she asked, smacking her lips.

"I.. I was just laying here in bed," he explained. "And then the ceiling started changing... and then I was on a road or something. And my whole body hurt, and it hurt even more to do anything. Then this woman ran up to me and started crying, saying that she loved me and that I'll be OK - holy shit, she looked just like you! But with ginger hair!"

It was Day's turn to shrug. "I don't think I've ever had ginger hair," she said. "Go on, go on."

"Oh," Patrick said, sitting in silence for a moment before continuing. "But I had this overwhelming urge to reassure her and tell her that it was a bad dream or something. That's why I said 'I love you' when you walked, I wanted to say it to her but you seemed like the next best thing. I'm sorry, I really don't remember anything," he added, seeing her distraught face at the fact he hadn't really meant it.

Day sighed, nodding. "No, no, it's fine, I understand," she assured him. "I.. I just... I guess I was hoping you were playing a trick. You always do that when you don't wanna get up. Like, play dead or something. But when I bring coffee in... you'd always.. " She struggled to finish the sentence, words catching behind a sob that was urging to rise in her throat. Last night, everything had been fine. And then she'd had that all ripped away from her within hours. All their memories together. All their milestones. Everything was just gone. They'd have to start over.

"So, uh... what do you remember?" she asked. "I'm Day, by the way," she mentioned, now knowing that he truly didn't remember her.

Patrick racked his brain for any memory whatsoever. "Basic functions, I guess," he answered. "How to use stuff. I remember how to do some stuff, but I don't remember how I learned. Like... I can play guitar. I think. Can I?"

Day nodded. "Yeah, you can," she said, downing nearly half of her coffee in one gulp. "You're in a band. Called Fall Out Boy. It's a pretty popular band, too. You guys just came out with a new album, although I suppose you'll have to relearn the entire thing, plus the rest of it... anyway, it hit #1, and so did some of the singles."

"Wow, really?" Patrick said, sort of amazed that whoever he was, he'd at least managed to do pretty well in music. "That's awesome! But that's probably a no-go until I relearn the songs, yeah..."

Suddenly, Day looked horrified, staring into the bottom of her now empty mug. "What is it?" Patrick asked, concerned that she'd neglected to tell him something really important.

"Pete," she muttered simply. "Pete's going to be so fucking bummed. No, that's an understatement."

"Who's Pete?" Patrick said quickly. "Why? Is he in Fall Out Boy? Are we friends? Is he like my brother or something? Or.." Patrick hated to suggest it, but at this point, anything was possible. "My son?"

Day laughed for a second. "No, no, he's not your son, although he might as well be your brother," she joked, but then the terror came back to her face. "You... you guys were best friends. Since forever ago. Oh man, I don't know how he's gonna take it... especially since you don't remember him..."

The name started to ring a certain familiarity, and Patrick concentrated hard on anything about him. No matter how hard he tried, though, even a scrap of a memory of Pete didn't come to mind. 

He looked up to respond to Day, but a shooting pain rippled through his spine and he neglected to move anymore. He realize that the coffee cup wasn't in his hand anymore, and that the bed seemed to have firmed and the blankets thinned out and become sterile white. What he could gather without moving anymore was that he was now placed in a hospital bed in a fairly empty room, save for someone beside him, who seemed to be crying quietly amidst silence.

Patrick used what little of the strength that hadn't left his body to move his head to the side to look at whoever was beside him. The ginger hair instantly registered as the woman from his previous hallucination. There were two people with her, a brunette who was patting her back and trying to reassure her, and a man standing behind them both whose expression now was that of a mixture of shock and happiness. "He's awake!" the man exclaimed happily. "Guys, look, he's awake!"

The women looked up. The brunette smiled happily, while the ginger threw her arms around Patrick's shoulders. This resulted in more discomfort. "St-stop," he said, although his voice was scratchy and it still hurt to talk, albeit less than when he'd been lying on the road.

"Sorry," the woman said quietly. "Just... just... you're alive, oh my God... you're OK..."

"It's just a dream," Patrick whispered, which didn't hurt quite as much. "Just a bad dream. I'm gonna wake up soon. Just tell me your name before I do, please."

The ginger suddenly looked horrified, as did the other two persons in the room. "Kayleigh, I'm sorry," the brunette whispered, her hand returning to the woman's back, who Patrick now assumed was Kayleigh.

Kayleigh broke down in more sobs. The man just left the room. "Patrick, she's... she's your girlfriend, OK?" the brunette told him. "She's crying because you don't remember her. You don't remember anything, do you?"

"No," Patrick mumbled. "God, I'm so sorry..."

Now the only thing he wished to do was to stay here, stay here and never go back to Day. He just wanted to stay there in that room, keep his now tight grip on Kayleigh's tattooed hand. Her crying seemed to hurt him more than anything, though, and that was the second thing he wished. That he remembered things, and he could stop this.

But all things are not forever, and these strange hallucinations weren't exceptions. However, when this one ended, he still seemed to be in a hospital room.

This time, it was Day's cries that were hurting him.


	2. Home

After he was given a thorough physical and it was realized nothing was wrong with him (it was assumed he passed out from sleep deprivation or something like that), Patrick was released from the hospital. The drive back was tense, the air thick with questions that neither wanted to ask. Silence teased them, urging one to open their mouth and say something, anything to break it.

Finally, Day said something.

"Patrick, you fucking scared me, you hear?" she told him, her grip on the steering wheel visibly tightening. "I couldn't fucking wake you up. I thought you were in a fucking coma or something. This has got to stop."

Patrick huffed with annoyance. "I'm sorry, I'll just flip a switch and I'll remember absolutely everything and stop going through these damned hallucinations that I don't enjoy any more than you do," he shot back. "It's not something I can control, Day. Please understand that."

Day rolled her eyes. "Right, because it's totally probable for you to just pass out every hour or so and not have ANYTHING wrong with you!" she said, coming dangerously close to shouting.

"There's nothing horribly fucked up with my brain, let's go with that!" Patrick really did start shouting. "Because a fucking physical can find that! They didn't even think twice about checking my brain! Just checked for signs of fucking trauma and that's it!"

"Hell, they did a fucking cat scan on you, Patrick!" Day cried. "Nothing was wrong with your head! NOTHING AT ALL!"

At this point, Day took her eyes off the road, staring Patrick in the face, with him staring back. Day quickly turned back so they wouldn't get in an accident. Patrick's gaze lingered, though, and as soon as he looked forward again, it was somehow dark, and all the stars were out. He could've swore that it was daytime when they were driving - wait, why was the steering wheel in his hand? Day was driving, right?

Dread filled him up and as he realized where he was. Another stupid hallucination. The road was desolate, and the car's high beams didn't actually pierce the darkness that well, leaving him with limited visibility. He couldn't even see where he was. He sat back in the driver's seat. Maybe his mind would tell him where to go and lead him down. Then again, his mind hadn't been that dependable lately.

His phone rang. Common sense told him not to talk on the phone while driving, but everything else told him to pick up the call. Hey, it might be important. He reached down for the phone and pressed accept. "Hello?" he spoke.

"Hey babe!" said a warm, welcome voice on the other end. "So I just found this amazing poem, and I thought you'd like it. Wanna hear it?"

Patrick smiled, recognizing the voice as Kayleigh's. "Of course I do," he said. 

He could practically hear Kayleigh smile as she began to read off the poem. He wasn't paying attention that well, just thinking about how glad he was that this hallucination wasn't another emotionally damaging one, that it was happy.

"And my April rose, darling, oh my April rose..."

That was the last thing he heard before the car violently swerved off the round and began to tumble down the side of a hill that he'd been driving on. Everything went totally black, and Patrick couldn't hear anything, much less the rest of the poem. Damn, he couldn't even feel a thing, despite having practically been flung off a cliff. He hoped that Kayleigh would hear whatever noise the car and him must be making, and she knew to go where he was driving immediately.

His mind sparked and made a connection all of the sudden. In his first hallucination, he'd been lying on a road and everything hurt. The next he'd been lying in a hospital bed. This must be the crash that caused him to be in such a state, he reasoned.

Patrick's senses returned to him, but he wasn't in the remains of a car, nor was he lying on the road from the first hallucination - he was sitting in Day's car. She'd apparently pulled into the driveway and left him there, because he was alone. Suddenly, the memory of the vision started to leave his mind. He scrambled to hold on to it, hold on to Kayleigh's cheerful voice, but it was gone soon enough. The only thing that remained was "April rose, darling, my April rose," a phrase he was sure he'd heard but couldn't place his finger on where he'd heard it.

He decided his best option was to go and attempt to patch things up with Day. She was the last shred of connection he had to the woman from his visions, the woman that inexplicably made him happy when she was and made him depressed when she cried over him.

Patrick quietly made his way inside. "Day?" he called out. "Please come talk to me. I need to apologize. I really do."

The sound of footsteps down the stairs became closer and closer, until finally Patrick could make out her bare feet and skinny jeans. When Day's face was revealed, he could tell she'd been crying - her eyes were red and puffy and she was sniffling.

As soon as she stepped down onto the landing, Patrick wrapped her up in a tight hug. Day didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around his torso and return the gesture, burying her face in his chest and crying even more. "Shh, shh, I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry," he mumbled in her ear. "I'm sorry I shouted. I should've been better. Please don't cry. You're going to make me cry, oh God..."

He could already feel tears welling up in his eyes when Day responded. "I just... I thought you were faking it, I thought you were fucking with me," she cried, her words broken up with sniffles and sobs. "Fuck, Patrick, I should be saying sorry. I started it. But.. but if you feel that way, apology accepted, I guess."

Patrick could of stayed there all day, his face in her hair, the pastel strands hiding the tears streaming down his cheeks. It felt like... home. Like he belonged there, holding her and crying his heart out over all that had happened. He couldn't, though. He was human. He was human and his stomach was growling.

He leaned away, still holding Day's shoulders. "Hey, how about we order pizza and forget about all this stupid shit?" he suggested. Pizza sounded good. He couldn't remember what it tasted like, but it still sounded good.

Day smiled and nodded. "I'll go order it, you go pick out a movie," she said. Patrick gave her a dazed expression and it took her a moment before she realized what she'd told him to do.

She laughed, shaking her head at herself. "Sorry, just sit on the couch and I'll pick a movie when I get done," she told him.

The rest of the evening was spent with pizza and Netflix as they relaxed and didn't acknowledge all that had happened in the last two days. It was comforting, and Patrick didn't wish anything else to happen. And for the first time in what felt like forever but had really only been two days, he fell asleep on his own accord and didn't hallucinate, just dream of... weird shit.

Weird shit he couldn't explain if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little late, writer's block is HELL... but I got through it! Remember to leave feedback!


End file.
